


you knew me once

by Snowsheba



Category: Aveyond
Genre: F/M, also somehow reincarnation au, aveyond winter gift exchange 2016/17, banter. so much banter. not so much flirting. it's mostly banter, coffee shop AU, these things just kind of happen i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 01:06:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9212669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowsheba/pseuds/Snowsheba
Summary: Lars works as a barista in the coffee shop that Rhen frequents every day.They don't get along with each other at all - until they do.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this as written for the aveyond winter gift exchange 2016-17. happy holidays, blogofblu! hope this is somewhat up to standards, given i feverishly wrote all of it in the past two days. (procrastination nation over here... also no wifi. and family stuff. but mostly no wifi, haha.)
> 
> apologies for any typos! i only had time for a cursory overview, but i'll be fixing this up completely later. also, there's lots of swearing. whoops.

Honestly, when Rhen gets into a fight with Dameon – it happens after she walks into her dorm room and finds him making out with a classmate from philosophy – she hadn’t been expecting much to change. She and Dameon have never seen eye-to-eye on everything, and, hell, if Dameon wants to make out with guys she doesn’t know a thing about _in her bed_ , then by all means, he can make out with guys she doesn’t know a thing about. So long as he isn’t doing it _in her bed_ , which now he isn’t! Because he’s not allowed in her room anymore, or in her general line of sight because she had seen things she now regrets. Sometimes things just work out perfectly like that.

She's still congratulating herself on a job well done when she walks into Aveyond, only the best coffee shop in Velderah, and stops dead – because it’s not Dameon behind the counter (thankfully), it’s a guy with green hair and dark eyes who scowls at her and says, “You’re blocking the door, Pendragon,” and shit, she does not have the patience to deal with this today.

Of course it would be Lars. _Of course_. Fate’s probably laughing its ass off in its dark little corner of the world, and she shakes a vindictive mental fist at it. She considers turning around but rejects the idea because she needs her coffee fix, and she will _not_ go to the café down the street for their shitty slop of a drink and their foul-mouthed beast of a barista (Marge, Rhen thinks her name is, and inwardly gags). She can deal with Tenobor for the five minutes it takes to get her coffee and two pastries. She’s had to deal with him all semester in their shared chemistry class, but she still steels herself as she goes forward towards the register nonetheless.

“Tenobor,” she says, as per protocol. “A displeasure as always.”

He sneers at her. “And to you, Pendragon.” He’s waiting for her to make the first move this time. _No dice_ , she thinks; she’s just here for coffee, and so she clears her throat.

“Can I have a – ”

“ – white chocolate mocha with an extra shot of expresso and two blueberry scones?” Lars finishes, sarcasm dripping like poison from his words, and Rhen scowls as he clicks the order into the register. It’s unfortunate that there is someone else in the room, otherwise she would actually punch him as he drawls, “Yeah, I got you, Pendragon. Dameon gushed about everything you like enough to make my teeth ache.”

“Just get me my coffee, you ass,” she growls, her knuckles tightening around the loop of her bookbag. She can do it. _Think happy things, Rhen._ Her smile is more like a grimace. “I have class in twenty minutes.”

“Ah, yes, the busy pre-law student as always,” Lars says, and somehow he makes it sound like the gravest insult. Regardless, he’s already turned around, neatly plucking her two scones from the display and slipping them into a bag before he sets to work on her coffee. “Remind me where you work again? A bookstore, or somewhere equally quaint and destitute? I can’t remember.”

“Says the barista,” Rhen says, bristling, unwilling to admit that she actually is a clerk in an antique store.

“A barista is valuable, Pendragon. How many people do you know are slaves to caffeine?” There is a blessed lull when one of the machines he is using buzzes to life, but it’s short-lived, and soon after he’s capping her drink and writing her name on it. “There you are. That will be five gold pieces.”

Expensive, as always. Dameon’s coffee had always been worth it; Rhen supposes she’ll just have to see with Lars’s, as she hands him the specified amount. “I’m surprised you’re working right now,” Rhen says, trying for neutral and ending up with hostile, taking her scones when he nudges them closer to her hand. “I thought you had biochem on Wednesday mornings.”

“I had to temporarily rearrange my schedule to allow for Dameon’s hissy fit,” Lars says, eyebrows raised. “Your fight with him has put quite a dampener on his otherwise intolerably cheerful and stupid mood. I suppose I’ve to thank you for that, even if Elini is about two days from firing him if this goes on.”

“Are you serious?” Lars nods, smug, and Rhen frowns. “He made out with some other dude _on my bed_ , and he’s making _this_ put out? It was his own fault.”

Lars leans on the counter. “You seem particularly bothered by it.”

“And _you_ seem particularly interested in it,” Rhen retorts, cautiously sipping her drink. It’s pleasantly warm and tastes as sweet as ever – seems Lars hasn’t poisoned her, at least.

“You expect me not to be? I’m guessing it’s all around campus by now.”

“Shit,” she answers, because he’s completely right and she hadn’t even thought about it. It’s a small school, and she’s one of the best students; of course people would be curious about the two valedictorians duking it out under mysterious circumstances. “Still, it’s really none of your business.”

“I’m sure I’ll find out why sooner or later.”

She turns her back to him and says, “I hope you fall in a hole, Tenobor.”

“Go jump in a lake, Pendragon,” Lars says back. Routine, safe and familiar, and he returns her middle finger as she walks out.

 _At least_ some _things never change_ , she thinks, and it surprises her how much comfort she takes in it.

* * *

Dameon is not in philosophy class the following day. As it turns out, he’s out sick apparently, at least according to her professor. Rhen furrows her brow, sends another text his way – _you all right?_ – and lets herself be concerned for about a minute before she decides to just call it a day and get her ass to work.

She swings by the coffee shop again to grab another cup, just to keep her going. Thankfully Lars isn’t there, and Elini makes her drink to perfection and gives her a perfunctory smile and wave as she leaves.

(The coffee doesn’t taste as good as it usually does. She tries not to think about _that_ too hard.)

The antique shop is one of her favorite places to be, against all odds. She and her full-time coworker Myst get along well, and even though her boss, a somewhat taciturn fellow by the name of Boyle, could be difficult, she loves that she can hold pieces of history in the palm of her hand. Her job consists of cashiering and otherwise being a presence up front in the shop, though, meaning she doesn’t often have the opportunity to handle antiques – but she doesn’t mind, honestly. She’s met a number of friends and otherwise interesting people through this job, the pay is decent, and the hours are good; not much room to complain at the end of the day.

Typically Dameon finds time to swing by sometime during the days she works, and though the day passes by without much ado, she finds herself glancing out the door every now and then regardless. Myst kindly doesn’t comment, instead chattering about a few new pieces Boyle had acquired and gaily asking about Rhen’s classes, and then her shift is over and she’s clocking out and getting ready to leave when the bell on the door rings, signaling a customer.

“Myst?” Rhen calls, swinging her bag over her shoulder. She hears a muffled _coming!_ and turns around, digging around her bag for her phone. “My apologies, my coworker will be with you shortly – ”

“Am I chasing you off? I didn’t realize I had that kind of power over you.”

She sucks in a breath, carefully letting her temper settle before she looks up at Lars’s sneering face and says, “Tenobor.”

“Indeed,” Lars says. He makes a show of looking around and says, “Truly, your workplace _is_ quaint. I do enjoy guessing things correctly.”

“But not destitute, you’ll notice,” Rhen bristles.

“You remembered what I said? I’m flattered,” Lars says, placing a hand over his heart. “Who would’ve thought – some backwater country girl actually listening to the stuck-up rich boy. Sounds like something out of a torrid novel.”

“Stuck-up? That’s certainly a good way to describe you.”

“And you didn’t discount the ‘backwater country girl’ barb, so I’d say we’re even.”

 _Fuck._ “Do you need something?” Rhen asks wearily. She’s had a full day of classes and work and needs coffee; she’s not in any mental state to deal with him and his incessant, clever wit. “If not, I’m off the clock and I want to go home.”

“Relax, I’m not here to bother you,” Lars says, putting his hands in the air. If it’s meant to lower her hackles, it fails miserably. “I came because I need to find something. It’s very old, and I figured here would be a good place to start.”

“Myst can do that,” Rhen says, reaching up to rub at her eyes. She walks out from behind the desk and glances at her watch; the shop closes soon, thus why Myst is managing the place alone. At this point, it’s obvious Lars is just trying to get a rise out of her, though how he had discovered her workplace is something she’ll have to figure out eventually. Not even her friends at school are aware of her connection to Boyle’s Antiquities _._ “If you’ll excuse me – ”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Lars drawls. “If you help me, I might be convinced to get you a discount on coffee in the near future.”

She freezes in place. He watches her with a smirk that grows as she narrows her eyes. _Low blow_ , she thinks, especially as she lets out a frustrated huff and says, “ _Fine_ , if you’re so insistent on my help.”

“I am,” Lars says, still smirking. Rhen crosses her arms over her chest and scowls at him, even as her mind whirs; _why_ was Lars doing this, what could he possibly gain by doing something like this? They’ve had an uneasy truce in shared classes since the very beginning, but it would be an overestimation to call them _friends_ , especially since she and Dameon have always been thick as thieves with no room for anyone else. Is he – is he trying to get to know her? If so, Rhen thinks grimly, he’s doing a shit job at it.

Naturally, this is when Myst finally pops out from between shelves, but she stops when she sees the two of them just about ready to break into a verbal fistfight. Unfortunately for Rhen, she also chooses not to interrupt, instead slinking back into the safety of antique clocks, and thus Rhen finds herself on her own as she snaps, “What do you want, then?”

Lars proceeds to describe something that sounds like a glass marble, about the size of his palm. Not just any marble, Rhen knows – she realizes instantly it’s the orb they keep in the furthest depths of the store. It’s surprising, to say the least; Boyle had told her about it when she had asked, though even he had admitted that he didn’t know much. What she can say for certain is that the orb is viewed as mystical, and the fact that Lars wants it is most curious indeed.

“It’s expensive,” Rhen warns as she leads him towards the back of the shop. The orb they have is a soft, waving blue – much like the sea, she’s found. “Intact, but expensive.”

“That’s fine,” Lars says. “Unlike you, I have money to throw around.”

“You work at a _coffee shop_ , Tenobor.”

“So? I’m assistant manager, and I guarantee I get better pay than you.”

She physically stops in place to give him a sharp, if a bit confused, look. “Didn’t you just get hired?”

“What can I say? I’m perfection incarnate. Better at my job than you are at your job, if it’s taking you this long to get me what I want.” He smirks, teeth gleaming white, at her deepening scowl. “Customer’s always right.”

The orb is cool to the touch when she plucks it off the shelf, cupping it in both hands as she quickly looks it over for damage or cracks. Fortunately it appears perfectly intact, and with that in mind she offers it out to him. “My boss calls this one a Flood Orb, if I remember correctly,” she tells him, letting her irritation take the backburner as she engages in Overly Friendly Customer Mode. “Apparently, there are a lot of different kinds of these scattered around, but this type is the most common. Relatively speaking, at least.”

Lars gingerly takes it from her grasp, cupping his hands underneath hers so she can let it fall into his palms. She ignores how warm his hands are even as her knuckles briefly brush against his skin, and she watches with some trepidation as he brings it closer to his face to look at. If he drops it, she’s more than ready to catch it before it hits the floor. “Amazing,” Lars says, running a finger along the smooth surface. “Do you know how your boss acquired this?”

“Like he acquires everything else,” Rhen says with a shrug. “Trading favors, going to shows, asking around.”

Lars doesn’t reply, following her wordlessly as she leads the way back to the front. The final total is up there with the thousands of gold pieces, and she hides her shock when Lars counts out exact change and hands it to her – when he doesn’t snap and actually waits for her as she double checks the amount and opens the safe and coordinates with Myst, and then the orb is finally wrapped up, placed into a bag, and it’s half an hour after her shift ends when she leaves the store. Lars walks out with her, and she stops at the sidewalk and glares at him.

“What?” he says, crossing his arms. His purchase lays safely in his arms. “It’s ten at night and you expect to walk back alone? Please.”

“What the fuck, Lars. I can take care of myself.”

“Oh yes, I know. I need you to protect _me_.”

She can’t tell if he’s serious, but it hardly matters; they’re walking towards the same place, after all. Not surprising, as they both take advantage of campus housing. More surprising is the fact that they aren’t arguing, and haven’t actually been arguing since she made the sale, and that he sounds genuinely curious as he says, “So how did you get this job? You’re the last person I would’ve expected working antiques.”

“Boyle is a friend,” Rhen says, smiling slightly. She’d met the man after stopping him from overcharging her friend John for some clothes at his shop, and she’d impressed him with her knowledge of the clothes themselves. Since then, she and Myst have had their work cut out keeping him on the straight and narrow, though it helped that he was a terrible liar in most cases. “He offered me a job when I told him I might not be able to pay tuition for the year.”

“Pay tuition?” Lars says, and then, “You actually struggle with tuition? I thought you were joking.”

“ _Why_ would I joke about that kind of thing?”

“You would literally never shut up about it whenever you and Dameon chatted in Aveyond. What was I supposed to think?”

“That it was actually a problem, since I apparently always talked about it?”

“Maybe it’s different from where I’m from.” Lars magnanimously ignores her mutter of _from money_ and instead says, “So he just offered you a job?”

“Essentially. Plus, I like history.”

“Why are you taking so many science classes, then?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” Lars says bluntly, “But you can’t blame me for being curious. Most of the time we’re yelling at each other, and I don’t actually know anything about you. It’s the same in the reverse situation, I think.”

Rhen fixes him with a quizzical look. He’s not wrong, but she’s unsure as to why he finds that significant, and he doesn’t bother returning her gaze. Still, it’s not like it will harm her, even if he might mock her into the next century; the damage is done, anyhow. “I don’t study history because I probably won’t be paid well, no matter what job I get,” she explains.

“But aren’t you going to go to law school?”

“Hopefully?” she says, reaching up to tuck hair behind her ear. “Depends on whether I can get into a good school, and if I can afford it. Which, at this point, probably not. Thus the science degree.”

Lars doesn’t say anything to that. The walk resumes in silence, and Rhen is startled to find that it’s not at all uncomfortable. She doesn’t even feel the least bit annoyed as she asks, “I’m guessing you’ve always wanted to be a chemist?”

“Biologist,” Lars corrects, quiet. He looks slightly uncomfortable as he adds, “Mother doesn’t approve.”

He’s never spoken of his family before. Rhen decides to leave well enough alone and merely asks, “Why?”

“It’s complicated,” he answers, looking away from her, one hand rising to the back of his neck. “She thinks I’m getting a linguist degree.”

“Doesn’t she look at your transcript?”

“Hell no,” Lars says with a derisive snort. “You think I let that get within thirty feet of her? No. By the time I’m done, it’ll be too late, she’ll have paid for everything.”

“I didn’t realize your relationship with your parents was so bad,” Rhen says, careful of her tone.

“Just my mom. No dad. She’s always been a bit... controlling.”

“Oh.”

Lars waves it away and asks, “What about you?”

The dorms are fast approaching now. She’ll have to peel off on her own in just a few steps, and she has a lightning-quick debate with herself; how much does she want him to know, and how much does she want to explain? (She doesn’t think about how she’s even willing to let him know about her. Not at all.)

“I was adopted,” Rhen says after a pause. “I don’t know anything about my birth parents. My real parents are the ones who encouraged me to go into STEM.”

“Oh.”

Rhen lets out a tiny huff of a laugh at that, one that he soon echoes as she slows to a stop. He copies her, and soon they’re just standing there, late at night, illuminated by a single lamppost as they just kind of – well, Rhen’s not sure what he’s thinking, but she’s shocked at the fact she’s just had a civil conversation with Lars Tenobor, that they had actually told each other things and hadn’t once tried to strangle each other as they did in class.

“Good night,” she says after a moment.

“Sleep well,” Lars answers, and with that they part ways, and Rhen remembers the earnest look on Lars’s face and can only wonder.

* * *

“Rhen,” he says in greeting when she walks into Aveyond.

“Lars,” she answers, stopping at the counter. She’s genuinely curious as she asks, “Are we on a first name basis now?”

“Well, considering the conversation we had yesterday, I suppose so,” Lars answers, eyebrows raised. One hand rises to hover over the screen of his cash register. “Your usual, I suppose?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“With the discount. Which – don’t tell Elini about it. She’d get pissed at me.”

“Elini is pissed at everyone all the time,” Rhen says, neatly avoiding the fact that Lars hasn’t told his boss about the discount. Just how desperate had he been for that orb? “But fine, I won’t spill.”

“Appreciate it.”

The rest of the transaction occurs in silence. Funny, Rhen thinks – yesterday she would’ve loved it if this is how it had gone. Now she finds herself at a loss of words, feeling a bit awkward, thinking she should say something. She doesn’t, though, just collects her stuff after she pays, and then he raises a hand in a wave and says, “See you later.”

“Bye,” she answers, and it’s not until she’s sitting down in her class and staring down at a blank sheet of notebook paper that she realizes she can’t focus at all.

* * *

Dameon finally shows his face to her a few days later, looking appropriately apologetic as she raises an eyebrow at him while he slips into the spot across from her. Lunch period is always quiet, considering how late she eats, but she’s willing to admit that she was feeling a bit lonely.

“Tell me you’re dating him,” she says as soon as his butt hits the chair, fixing him with an intense, hawk-like stare.

“Who – oh, yeah. Yeah, yeah, he took me out to a movie yesterday, it’s official,” Dameon says, and he looks a little shy. It’s kind of cute, and when Rhen leans forward with a smirk, he backpedals. “No, we haven’t had a repeat of what happened before. Which, again, sorry. In retrospect that was completely my bad, but I guess I just kind of. Overreacted. As I do.”

“Yes,” Rhen agrees. “Now tell me everything.”

Dameon, thankfully, spares her the juiciest of details, but he does tell her about all the little outings he and his new boyfriend – James, or something, she doesn’t remember – have gone on. She admittedly loses interest after a while, gaze flitting about the lunchroom a few times for a reason she can’t begin to guess, and then she needs to go to class and she’s gathering her tray and Dameon places a hand on her arm.

“Who are you looking for?” he asks.

“What?” she says, because _what_.

“Don’t play dumb,” Dameon scoffs. “You were obviously waiting for someone this whole time, and they didn’t show. Who do I need to beat up?”

“Uh. No one?”

“ _Rhen._ C’mon, girl, don’t lie to me. Who do I need to kill?”

“Okay, wow, firstly, there’s a huge difference between ‘beat up’ and ‘kill’, and secondly – ”

Someone calls her name, and she turns her head slightly to see it’s Lars, of all people. He looks a bit frantic, waving one of his hands wildly about in the air, and when she turns back to Dameon, she sees him smirking at her. “No,” she says sharply, and then, “ _No_ , Dameon,” as his smirk widens.

“Have fun,” he answers.

“Dameon, it’s _not_ what you think – ”

“Uh-huh. We can catch up later, Rhen. Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“Dameon. I’m going to punch you in the goddamn face.”

“Yeah? You’re leaving, though. Look at you.” He gives her a cheeky wave as she begins walking to where Lars is, and when she flips him the bird he merely blows her a kiss. “See you later.”

She puts up both middle fingers this time before turning around with a huff. Lars is watching with a confused look on his face, and she just shakes her head and continues to make her way over to him. He doesn’t need to know. He absolutely does _not_ need to know.

“The hell was that about?” Lars asks, of course, when she finally reaches him at the other end of the cafeteria. She falls into step beside him as she groans, and he notes, “You’re blushing.”

“Please don’t ask,” she says.

“I work with Dameon. You can be sure as fuck that I’m going to ask.”

“Please do not.”

He studies her for a few moments. She’s looking at the floor, knuckles white around the straps of her backpack, cheeks flaming, and then he shrugs and looks forward again. They’re on their way to their shared chemistry class; first time Lars has walked her, and she ignores the stares it attracts.

“Fair enough.”

She blinks and shoots him a quick glance, eyebrows furrowed. “What, really?”

“Yeah. What, is it that surprising?”

“Honestly? Yes. You’ve treated me like dirt since day one, Lars, you’ll have to forgive my caution.”

“Oh.” He considers this. “I guess that’s true.”

“You _guess_?” She shakes her head. “How shallow can you get?”

“Shut up.” He sounds good-natured, and she’s immediately suspicious, but instead he just says, “So I actually need your help with something, which is why I waved you over. Do you have time?”

“We have chemistry in twenty minutes.”

“I’m aware. Can you skip?”

“Is it that time-sensitive? I’d rather not.”

“Let’s just say my room is flooded, and that it’s because of the orb, and I was kind of hoping you might have some ideas.”

She stares. He stares back.

“You’re not joking,” she says after a moment.

“No,” he says, “I’m not.”

“How the fuck – ”

“I don’t know. Well, I kind of know, but. Please help.”

She can’t believe this. She can’t.  But she totally believes him, somehow. “Fine. Just – no. I don’t want to know. Let’s go.”

He smiles at her. Not one of those fake, sneering smirks, but a genuine smile, and she’s startled by how _good_ it looks on him. Does he ever smile? Has she just never noticed? “Thanks, Rhen.”

“Save it. I doubt I’ll be able to help.”

* * *

Lars has an orb staff, she quickly learns. That, and the magic that Boyle spoke of is actually a thing, and the fact that Lars can use it is slightly annoying because magic would be cool to have. So she thinks, as she gingerly attempts to pry the orb off of the staff with Lars hovering over her shoulder, and then the orb pops off with a little _ping_ and they both go “thank _god_ ” at the same time because the slow stream of water from the staff itself stops.

“At least it only got your carpet,” she says, holding the orb in one hand.

Lars has a single, like her. Unlike hers, it’s sparsely decorated, with neat, dark blue comforters on the bed lending the only color to the room, and he also has a really thick memory foam pad that she discovers when she sits down on the bed itself. She’s envious, but she’s not going to say that out loud as he takes the spot next to her.

“Water damage,” he replies presently. He sighs. “Mother won’t be pleased.”

“Does she know you can use – uh. Sorcery? I guess it’s called?”

“Oh, that? Yeah. Runs in the family.”

“And... you’re just telling me that. Even though I don’t use magic.”

He furrows his eyebrows at her. “You don’t? I could’ve sworn you did. That antique store is brimming with it.”

“Seriously?”

“Wait, you didn’t know?”

“Um. No? Why the fuck would I know that?”

“Because any person who uses magic would be able to sense – well, shit, maybe you don’t have magic. And now you know about magic, I guess. Shit.” She stares a bit longer as he rubs his forehead; this is the first time she’s seen him flustered as he says, “Don’t tell anyone. I can’t believe I just did this. I thought for sure – _fuck_ me, ugh.”

“Take me out to dinner first – ” and holy _shit_ Rhen is ready to shoot herself in the face right then and there as she slaps a hand over her mouth and Lars freezes. That’s a joke she can get away with when she’s with Dameon, and in the whole rush of things, it had just – she _means_ it, too, which is the worst part because she and Lars have never gotten along until they suddenly _have_ , and she’s just –

“Tonight. Seven.” His voice is quiet and intense. “Do you have work?”

She stares at him, wide-eyed. “Are you serious?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he says, staring back at her, and Rhen opens and closes her mouth a couple of times.

“I don’t,” she manages after a bit of this. She’s leaning back slightly because Lars is leaning forward, not enough to compensate the distance, but holy hell, she’s starting to feel a little lightheaded. This isn’t actually happening, is it?

“Good. Wear something nice, I’m sure you have something. I’ll pick you up.”

“Okay – wait, you don’t even have a car, what the fuck.”

Lars doesn’t answer, instead reaching over and plucking the orb from her hands. This time she knows it’s on the purpose, the way his fingers brush against hers, slow and deliberate, before pulling away, and she can hear Damone’s _go get ‘em, tiger_ ringing in her mind. Well, she’d listened. She hadn’t meant to, but she had, however unintentionally, as she gets to her feet.

“Seven,” he repeats, and she blinks. “Don’t forget.”

“I was just joking, you know – ”

“Nope. You don’t get to get my hopes up like that and then take it back. This is happening, you already agreed to it.”

“Since _when_ have you been wanting to take me out? Seriously, what?”

He waves a hand. “A while. Couple months now. I’ll explain later, just – just go. Seven.”

She shakes her head and says, “Yeah, yeah. I won’t forget.”

“Good.”

“Because we’ve been total assholes to each other since first term, and then you spring _this_ on me, and – ”

“You started it, Rhen.”

He says this plainly. Rhen has no idea what he’s referring to, but she doesn’t think he’s going to actually explain himself, at least not yet. She can roll with that, for now, and so she backs down and says, “Fine, fine, I’m going.”

“I – sorry. I’m kind of – I’m shit at this.” He looks up again from the orb resting peacefully in his hands. “I’m sorry. I _will_ explain later. Promise.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Rhen says, and then she steps out, whips out her phone and texts Dameon, _I did it._

* * *

_Wear the cream dress, the one with purple highlights. It brings out your eyes._

“Why the fuck,” she mutters, taking out the dress as directed by his text. She trusts Dameon’s fashion sense over hers, at least for her; they’ve been dressing each other for years. “Why the fuck is this happening. I literally only started talking to him a few days ago.”

 _And we clicked really fast_ , her mind points out. Rhen scowls and concedes the point; ever since the initial meeting at the antique shop, before Dameon finally decided to talk to her again, she and Lars had been meeting up and talking to each other pretty regularly all over the place. Class, her work, his work, on the way to the dorms, lunch – she hadn’t even noticed how neatly Lars had inserted himself into her routine. Clearly, he hadn’t noticed how she’d done the same, and now it’s six forty-five and she stares at the makeup sitting on her desk. _He can be annoying, but he’s nice, somehow. You like him._ Guess I do, she thinks. I guess I do.

Mascara, she decides, and lip gloss. That’s enough. Dameon agrees with her decision when she texts him about it, and then she slips on flats and sits on her bed, phone in hand. Six fifty-two, now, and then Dameon is calling her and she picks up on first ring.

“You can do this,” he says.

“It’s just a date,” she says, exasperated. She’s actually – she’s actually not even that nervous. It’s just Lars, after all, and she is surprised to find that she trusts him enough to not worry even the slightest bit. “I’ve been on dates before.”

“Yeah, but it’s with _Lars Tenobor._ Which, by the way, I thought would be a problem, since you’re always arguing every time I see you. Although you were pretty civil with him today.”

“Dameon. Did you follow me?”

“Only a little bit! James came with.”

“ _Dameon._ ”

“Look, I was curious, okay? And I didn’t even scream or anything. I was a perfectly quiet stalker. The best kind.”

“That’s debatable,” she snorts. “Are you done with the pep talk?”

“Uh, no. Let’s see – stay safe, make sure you have your pepper spray, and your ID, and your medical allergies, and also condoms – ”

“Oh my _god_ , no – ”

“ – just covering my bases, okay. Also, a knife. You have a knife?”

“I’m not bringing a knife, Dameon.”

“Just bring a knife, Rhen. I think you’re going to need one.”

“Why the fuck would I need a knife on a – ” There’s a knock on her door, and she briefly lifts her phone from her ear to call, “Just a sec,” before putting it back. “I have to go, Dameon.”

“If he tells you that you need a knife, I totally called it. Good luck, Rhen.”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

He’s already hung up, though, and she huffs as she picks up her bag, drops her phone in, and checks its contents. Phone, wallet, keys, ID, pad of paper and a pen. No knife, though she has one for cutting up fruit and stuff, and with a roll of her eyes she grabs it and drops it in, opening her door a moment later.

“You clean up nicely,” Lars drawls. He’s wearing khakis and a flattering shirt; his normal outfit, then, and Rhen sticks her tongue out at him as she steps out and locks her door. He reaches out and stops her before she can, however, hand over hers so she freezes in place, and says, “You wouldn’t happen to have a blade of some kind, would you?”

Rhen stops. Thinks, _I’m going to have_ words _with Dameon later_. Says, “I have a knife on me, actually. A small one.”

“Huh,” Lars says, sounding surprised, and then, “Alright, let’s go. Dinner first, stuff afterwards.”

“I only agreed to dinner.”

“Addendum: dinner first, magic afterwards.”

“Seriously?”

“Well, yeah. C’mon, let’s go.”

* * *

Lars doesn’t have a car, but he does have Uber, and the restaurant he takes her to is fairly high class, all things considered. He doesn’t let her argue the money aspect for longer than a few minutes, and their conversation consists of debating the pros and cons of history and antiques in the sciences. Also the chemistry of coffee and the drug industry in relation to caffeine. Some other things, too, but Rhen starts to lose track of it when he puts his hand over hers on the table and then leaves it there.

 _Moving fast,_ she thinks, but it feels like the most natural thing in the world when they’re actually holding hands as they leave the place, still arguing the merits of Rube Goldberg machines. The real tragedy of the situation is more along the lines of _why couldn’t we have been friends sooner?_

They end up back in Lars’s room at the end of it all, which is when Lars has Rhen take out her knife, and then he tells her, “Stab the pillow.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

He holds up the pillow. It’s not his only pillow, but it’s a nice pillow. She’d take it, if she’s being honest. “Stab it.”

“ _Why_ would I stab it?”

“Just do it, Rhen.”

“No, no, you promised you would explain, and you have yet to explain shit. Give me something, asshat.”

The pillow drops into Lars’s lap. They’re sitting across from each other on his bed, legs crossed underneath them, and he props an elbow against his knee, head in his hand. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

Good question. So much, that’s the answer, and she asks, “Why weren’t we friends sooner?”

“I’ve been a jerk to you because I liked you but you didn’t have magic, and that was a good way to ensure that you didn’t actually ever like me in return.” He raises an eyebrow when she can’t muster a reply. “Is it that surprising?”

“You play a very convincing asshole,” she replies.

“Ha! Suppose I do.” He doesn’t elaborate on that, and he says, “What else?”

“Why are you so convinced I have magic?”

“You and I get along too well for it to be anything else,” he says cryptically, and she’s about to interrogate him on that because _what the actual hell,_ but then he’s swept on. “Plus, you work in a goddamn _magic store_ , and Boyle’s a famous sorcerer. Well, dark mage, I guess, but he’s a sorcerer nonetheless. He wouldn’t hire some random person to work there.”

“Are you telling me I’ve been working in an antique store that’s actually a magic store for the past few months _and no one told me_?”

“Apparently. Which means your magic is dormant, or something else, and I’m thinking it’s something else. Thus: stab the pillow.” He holds it up again.

“What if I hurt you?”

“I’m a sorcerer, I can heal myself. Stab the fucking pillow, Rhen.”

She grasps the knife and eyes him uncertainly. He gestures with the pillow, just a little bit, and raises an eyebrow, and with that she thrusts forward without hesitation.

Nothing happens, so it seems, except the pillow tears as the knife neatly bisects its threads. Lars, however, yelps and is forced backwards, and Rhen immediately pulls the knife back, sets it aside, and pulls herself over to him to make sure he’s not dying – but then he starts laughing, and with a huff she falls into place beside him, ignoring the fact they are now lying down together in his bed and she is wearing a dress and everything else because everything about this feels so _right_.

“Sword singer,” he manages through his laughter. “Fucking called it, man. Well, Dameon did, but them’s the breaks.”

“Oh, no. Dameon too?” Lars just laughs harder, and she grumbles, “That explains the phone call.”

“He’s one of the best healers in the city. You could’ve made worse friends, that’s all I’m saying.” He turns on his side to face her, and she does the same. His eyes are terribly soft, and she bites her lip unintentionally, watching as his irises flick down to look, just briefly. It’s warm and she feels safe and then he says softly, “So, you probably have questions.”

“Why does it feel like I’ve known you forever?” she asks, absently reaching out. He holds still as she brushes a curl of hair behind his ear, takes her hand in his when she moves to pull back. She lets him.

“Not sure,” he says. “I mean, I’m kind of sure. My magic knows yours, somehow, or it recognizes you – I can’t tell you how. Dameon’s as well.”

“So that’s how you knew I had magic?”

“I mean, I didn’t. Or I felt it, and then I was attracted to you because of it, but I didn’t realize it was actually because of your magic. Thus why I did everything I could to keep you away.”

“Well, it worked,” she mutters, looking down at their entwined hands. He huffs, amused, and she says, “So, why be a linguist?”

“Technically I’m studying magical theory. Language is just a part of it, since I use words to cast spells and stuff.”

“Holy shit, that sounds stupid. I can’t believe this is my life right now.” He rolls his eyes but doesn’t pass judgment, and instead she asks, “What’s a sword singer?”

“You channel your magic through blades and weapons – swords, mostly. The knife was a bit of a stretch, which is why you didn’t actually see anything but me falling backwards. The best sword singers can do everything a sorcerer can through swordplay.”

“And everything a sorcerer can do is...”

“Elemental stuff,” he says. “Damn, you’re so behind.”

“I don’t know my real parents. I assume they used magic. Is it really a surprise?”

“I guess. Still weird that you grew up without this kind of thing, though.”

“Gee, so thoughtful.”

“Shut up.”

She raises an eyebrow and says, more playful than not, “Make me.”

He raises an eyebrow back and cups his hand around the back of her neck to kiss her. His lips are kind of chapped, but it’s lovely all the same.

* * *

“I’ll lend you a book,” he says much, much later.

“Good enough for me,” she answers, curling up against him, and it is.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on [tumblr](http://www.snowsheba.tumblr.com/)!


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